I Confess... I'm Not Sure I Could Be A Self Help Guru.

     I'm not sure that I could speak with much expertise about how to make a marriage successful.  Like my faith, I can only talk about what I've learned through experience.  So I've come up with a couple of chapters for an as yet not begun, upcoming guide to help strengthen marriages, which likely won’t ever be written titled: 

When Two Become One Mess

(A User's Guide for Understanding Your Spouse)

Chapter 3: The Progression of Sexy over the Course of a Marriage

An open letter to voters (and the candidates who want their votes) in 2016

“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” -  Eleanor Roosevelt

Dear 2016 voters,

To begin, I’m not writing to endorse or disavow any candidate.  I make no attempt to rally support for a political party or movement.  Nor am I given to delusions that I carry much power to influence the outcomes of elections.  Heck, as a pastor I have a hard enough time just influencing church folk to follow the Golden Rule sometimes.  So let’s just take that notion off the table right now. 

What I am interested in doing is voicing the concern I have with the current state of affairs in our culture that has led our nation to this point in our shared story.  And make no mistake, it is a shared account of this time in history.  Each voice adds a layer and a nuance to the tone and narrative that future generations will read and gather an idea of where and who we are as a people.  Each of us contributes to the story in ways we can’t begin to comprehend.  And for my part, I would just rather not contribute to any portion of the story that will be shameful.  Hence this open letter to you, the voting citizenry of 2016.  (Candidates, this is meant for you too.)

Sundaes With Kimberly

     “I don’t care if you are a preacher! You ain’t listening to me! Ya’ll can ALL kiss my *** cause I’m going HOME!!” Smelling of Kool menthols and the detergent used to clean hospital sheets, and wearing nothing but the little gown they gave her upon admission, Kimberly started down the hall of the hospice floor towards the elevator. Her short, strawberry blonde hair was just beginning to grow back in enough to style, but today it was all natural curls misshapen on one side by a pillow that had mashed it to the side of her head. Her pale, freckled face was a mixed mask of anger and pain. At just 27 years old she was the mother of five, fathered by three different men, and had stage four, terminal melanoma. Now all she wanted was to die at home. It would seem like a simple request to most, but the circumstances of her life had brought her here to the last place that would take her and give her medicine for the unimaginable amount of pain she was in. It was her last hope of a less painful existence and death. And she wanted NO part of it. But that was Kimberly, willful, headstrong, and determined that the world wouldn’t dictate how she lived… or died. I think about this incident now and smile, but at that time it was just exhausting. The irony is that in spite of all of her bluster, bad language, and worse choices, Kimberly taught me a few things about my life, my faith and my practice as a minister.